A New Way of Doing Things
by mischeifmanaged3
Summary: When Dean is cursed on a hunt, he, Sam, and Bobby must find the witch responsible before Dean loses his hearing for good. This story with six chapters, and soon to be a series.
1. A Hidden Hex Bag

The ringing was so loud. _Damn witch_. Sam thought as he made his way though the house.

"Dean!" he yelled. He ran toward the sound of his brother, and grasped his ears as the ringing increased.

"Sam!" Dean sounded desperate, pleading.

Sam quickened his pace but halted suddenly in the doorway where the noise had become the loudest. Dean lay on his side in the middle of the room, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands covering his ears. Sam didn't waste time staring, but lunged toward his brother. He stuffed his hands into Dean's pockets, but couldn't find the hex bag. Dean didn't even seem to recognize Sam's presence as he continued muttering under his halting breath.

"Just hang on, Dean," Sam said, trying not to let the panic run into his voice. He moved on from Dean and began looking around the room, it had to be somewhere. He frantically opened drawers in the desk, pulled books from the bookshelf – but like always, the witch hid the hex bag not to be found.

Finally, he emptied a cup full of pens, and a small felt bag fell out onto the desk. He quickly pulled out his lighter and lit the bag, watching as the felt burned away to ash and revealed small bones. He knew the spell had been broken when the ringing blessedly stopped.

Sam quickly turned back around and sunk down next to his brother. Whether or not Dean had recognized that the ringing had stopped though wasn't apparent, as Dean hadn't relaxed out of the fetal position he'd curled up in. His arms were wrapped so tightly around his head, that Sam could hardly even pry them away.

"Dean!"

Dean's hitched breaths were fast and panicked. He made no sign that he'd heard Sam at all, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"Dean, hey man, tell me what's wrong–"

Sam placed two fingers to Dean's neck and felt for a pulse, but Dean's heart was beating so fast that Sam had trouble picking out separate beats. Dean let out a soft gasp as Sam's fingers pressed gently against his neck, his first response to Sam since Sam had burned the hex bag. Sam swallowed, and tried to slow his own heartbeat as he tried not to panic. Something was wrong. Something bad, and Dean needed a hospital if he was in so much pain that he wasn't even responding.

"Dean, I'm gonna get you help, okay?" Sam said as he manipulated his brother into a sitting position. As he shifted, Dean's arms fell from his head, and Sam saw a small trickle of blood from Dean's ears that only increased his worry and panic.

Sam ducked underneath Dean and grunted as he let Dean's weight fall on his shoulders. He shakily stood, grasping Dean's arm and leg in a fireman's carry, then took slow careful steps through the hallways and out the front door towards the Impala.

Sam fumbled with the key and opened the door, but took his time and attentiveness gently lowering Dean down into the passenger seat. While Dean's muscles had relaxed, he seemed to be less aware of what was going on, and Sam couldn't even imagine what spell the witch had cast.

Sam quickly shut the passenger side door without another thought, and raced around to the driver's side. Dean was already listing to the side, and Sam put out a hand gently catching him before he fell onto the seat. As soon as Sam touched him, Dean gasped, and his eyes fluttered, but squeezed shut almost immediately.

"Dean! Hey-" Sam grasped Dean's shoulders, and Dean winced.

"Sammy?"

Dean's voice was so pained and lost, that Sam immediately started the car, cranked the heat, and drove. Something was very wrong, and the faster they got to a hospital, the faster Dean would get help. Dean was still breathing quick and strained, letting out an occasional moan that had Sam squeezing his shoulder with each one.

Sam drove with one hand on the wheel and one hand keeping Dean from falling. His eyes darted from Dean, to blue hospital signs on the side of the road, to actually watching the road. He was thankful that it was late at night and the roads were empty.

When he finally reached a hospital, he pulled right up to the ambulance bay, and was actually thankful when someone immediately approached him, telling him he couldn't park there. One look at Dean though – who'd fallen unconscious, but was shivering slightly – and he was turning back towards the hospital calling for a gurney.

Sam busied himself opening Dean's door and gently pulling him from the car, but once the team of paramedics got ahold of him, they worked fast, and Dean was being brought inside with hardly a word for Sam. He followed as far as he could, but was too soon stopped and told to wait. He felt his heart pounding as he watched Dean be wheeled around a corner and out of sight.

"I need to know what happened sir,"

Sam looked down to see a woman in scrubs looking up at him. He recognized her as one of the paramedics who'd helped take Dean from the car.

"My brother– I– "

"Sir, we can't help your brother fully until we know what happened."

The doctor was very calm and patient, and it made Sam uneasy. He looked around and finally realized where he was. Various beds lined the walls partitioned by curtains, and there was a desk with nurses to his left. Dean had been taken down a hall, away from the trauma beds.

"Umm–" Sam rubbed his head which had slowly began to ache. "There was this noise– I– I don't know what happened. He was conscious when I found him– but he wasn't– he didn't respond–"

It took all of Sam's effort just to form coherent sentences, and he realized his hands were shaking.

"This noise, was it high pitched? Ringing? Constant?"

"Yes, it was– like an ambulance, but not–"

The doctor nodded, seeming to understand, even though Sam could hardly understand.

"And did he hit his head at all?"

Sam shook his head, and looked past the nurse at the corner Dean had disappeared around, somehow, hoping, maybe he would appear there.

"Sir? Sir, sir are you alright?"

Sam felt a hand on his arm and pulled his eyes away from the hallway, but the doctor had left. In her place stood a nurse with her hand gently placed on his upper arm.

"Come sit," she said. She began guiding him over behind the nurses desk to a table and two chairs, somewhat secluded from the insanity that was the ER. "I'll get you some water."

Just the thought of sitting made Sam's legs give, and he collapsed into the chair, his head falling into his hands. He heard the nurse come back and set something down in front of him. He looked up and reached for the cup of water.

"Thanks," he said. He took a sip, not even tasting it. The nurse sat down across from him. She was holding a clipboard and a pencil.

"My name is Caroline," she said, "I can help you figure out this paperwork if you want."

Sam rubbed a shaking hand down his face. He doubted he'd be able to focus on reading, let alone holding a pen.

"Yeah, that'd be great," he said, "thanks."

"Alright, let's start with your name," she said. Sam looked up surprised, he'd been so preoccupied about Dean, it hadn't occurred to him that she would ask about him.

"Uhh... Sam," he said. He cleared his throat, trying to remember the name on any of their insurance cards "Sam... Holland. Dean is my brother."

Caroline nodded and began writing on the clipboard. Sam took a shaky breath. How did this happen? One minute they were hunting a witch, the next minute, Dean's condition was undetermined and he was answering questions about insurance.

"And how old is Dean?"

Sam answered the rest of her questions, trying to focus his attention on the monotonous questioning and not on the ever present feeling of unease that seemed to be a presence on the outside of his body as well as in his mind. After a few minutes, he'd seemed to calm down, and Caroline left him to put Dean's information into the system and register their insurance information.


	2. A Silent Conversation

Bobby looked up from his perch at the clawfoot desk in the study. He was in the middle of researching a case he couldn't shake. One of the phones had rung, and he tried to think which of his hunters were in the middle of a case at the moment.

Groaning, he stood from the creaking chair and made his way over to the line of phones in the living room. His heart sunk when he saw which phone was ringing. He quickly grabbed the corresponding script, took a breath, and answered the "Insurance Company" phone.

"Good afternoon, this is Steven Gavers," he said. He flipped through the pamphlet not exactly knowing what he was looking for, but needing something to do with his hands.

"Hello, this is Caroline at St. Peter's Hospital in Sterling Heights Michigan, one of my patients seems to have an expired insurance card, I was wondering if it had been renewed in the recent past?"

"Could I get the name on the card?" Bobby asked, clearing his throat.

"Dean Holland."

Bobby's face went cold as all the blood rushed from his head. He'd been prepared for the shock of hearing the news about anyone else. Sam and Dean, he wasn't prepared for. If Dean was in the hospital, something was wrong. John had taught his boys everything he'd learned from the army, and then some. Hospital was a last resort.

"It happens occasionally, an account will get renewed and new cards won't have arrived yet, I just need the activation code from you if it has," Caroline continued when Bobby didn't say anything. Bobby cleared his throat.

"Our servers are down at the moment," he said, "I'll call you back within the hour with the activation code. You said it was Dean Holland?"

"Yes, that would be great, thank you," Caroline said.

Bobby tried not to hang up too hastily, but began dialing Sam's phone from his cell as soon as he had.

"Bobby," Sam answered on the second ring. He sounded tired and defeated, but somehow relieved as well.

"What's wrong with Dean? He okay?" Bobby asked, cutting right to the chase.

"What– how did–"

"Insurance card failed," Bobby answered Sam's question before he'd even asked.

"Bobby– I'm sorry–" Sam began his apology, but Bobby's sigh interrupted him.

"It's fine kid, now– what happened?"

Sam sighed. "We were hunting this witch we'd been tracking for a while. We thought we had her– but it was a trap. Dean got hit with a spell– by the time I found the hex bag, Dean wasn't responding to me."

"Shit," Bobby said under his breath. Sam was quiet on the other end of the line. "Any word from the doc yet?"

"No, they just took him in," Sam said. Bobby began moving back to the study, pulling down his books on spells and witches. Whatever was wrong with Dean, most likely was something the hospital couldn't fix.

"Okay," Bobby said, thinking, "and how are you, son, you get hit with the spell too?"

"A little at the end, but not at the height that Dean got. It was a loud ringing, sort of like when angels are talking– but it was definitely a witch. I burned the hex bag before I could see what was in it though," Sam said regretfully.

"Well it's sure as hell a good thing you didn't take your time," Bobby said, trying to release the blame Sam put on himself. "You get what you can from the doc, and I'll start researchin' this spell. No damn witch is going to get the better of your brother."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said

* * *

"Mr. Holland?"

Sam looked up and met eyes with a doctor standing in front of the table. He began to stand, but the doctor held out his hand to stop him.

"Please, Mr. Holland, it may be better if we talk here," the doctor said sitting across from Sam. Sam didn't say anything, but waited for the doctor to speak again.

"My name is Michael Jagers, the attending assigned to Dean. Dean's condition is stable," he began, his tone suggested that there was more though. Sam didn't relax.

"Shortly after you brought him in, he suffered a mild seizure, but didn't have trouble breathing. He briefly regained consciousness, but was unresponsive, and complained of pain in his head and a loud ringing. We gave him a painkiller as well as a small sedative. The CT scan didn't show anything unusual, and I'm afraid we'll have to wait for him to wake up again to discover anything further."

Sam let out a breath and let his head sink into his hands, pressing against his face. Dr. Jagers seemed patient as Sam tried to process the information he'd heard. The good news was Dean was stable. The bad news was that this was definitely supernatural, and there was little the hospital would be able to do.

"Can I see him?" Sam asked. His voice was hoarse, but he didn't bother clearing his throat. Dr. Jagers nodded and stood from the table.

"Of course, if you'll just follow me–"

Dr. Jagers led Sam down the hall he'd been forbidden down earlier. Through the open door he stopped outside of, Sam could see that two beds inhabited the room separated by a curtain. Dean was asleep in the bed farthest from the door.

"Thank you," Sam said. Dr. Jagers left, reminding him to press the nurse call button if he needed him.

Dean's face was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. An IV port led into his arm, and a nose cannula was threaded under his nose. Sam reminded himself that Dean was just sleeping, and that it was very good he was breathing on his own. He cautiously stepped over to the bed and placed his hand on Dean's arm. Dean showed no response, and didn't stir when Sam said his name. Thankful that the other bed was empty, Sam hesitantly glanced out the door before shutting it and pulling out the EMF reader.

Sam was fairly certain it was a spell, but he had to rule out all the possibilities he could. When the EMF reader didn't show signs of a ghost, he took out the the flask from his jacket pocket full of holy water, and carefully dripped some onto Dean's arm. Not only did the holy water not burn Dean's skin, but Dean didn't flinch at the contact. Finally, he regretfully reached for the silver switchblade in his boot. The last thing he wanted to do was harm Dean further, but if this was a shifter, or some other kind of supernatural thing, it meant that Dean was probably in more trouble than it seemed. Very carefully, Sam took one of Dean's fingers and pricked it with the knife. Dean groaned in his sleep, and Sam quickly turned his attention back to Dean's face.

"Dean? Hey, can you hear me?"

When Dean didn't respond, Sam took his hand, but Dean's hand remained stiff and unmoving. Sam tried not to worry. Dean was under a sedative after all.

Sam let go of Dean's hand and pulled out his phone. Bobby answered on the first ring.

"Hey, son, any word?"

"Yeah," Sam said, clearing his throat. "He's stable, but they won't really know what's up until he wakes up. I checked for EMF, holy water, and silver blade, but he was clean. It's definitely a spell."

Bobby sighed, "well I guess no news is good news," he said.

"I guess," Sam said, turning away from Dean, "have you found anything?" he asked, stowing the switchblade.

"Yeah, actually, but I'm afraid we're gonna have to wait till he wakes up to narrow it down," Bobby answered. Sam turned back towards Dean and almost jumped when Dean was staring, freaked, back up at him.

"We might not have to wait long, I'll call you back," Sam said in a rush, closing his phone before he'd finished speaking.

"Hey! Dean!"

Dean didn't say anything as Sam sat in the chair next to the bed and reached for the nurse call button. Dean said nothing, his eyes only widening further. He weakly grabbed Sam's arm.

"Sammmmy... wait"

There was something about Dean's voice that made Sam stop and stare. Dean's voice was not only weak, but hesitant, and he looked absolutely traumatized.

"I can't hear you... Sam?"

"What?"

Dean's voice was slurry, no doubt. and the longer he spoke, the more freaked he looked. When he didn't respond to Sam's question, Sam tried not to panic himself. He looked around, found his phone in his pocket, and began writing a text to no one. When he was finished, he showed it to Dean.

 _You can't hear? Anything?_ He tried to keep his face neutral as Dean read the text. When Dean was finished, he looked up at Sam and shook his head.


	3. Like Riding a Bike

Dean was exhausted as he folded himself into the passenger seat of the Impala, AMA papers signed. The doctors were absolutely shocked. They had assumed that a newly deaf patient wouldn't want to leave, but want answers. If this was supernatural though, there was nothing the doctors could do for him. He didn't say anything to Sam as he felt the car being started and watched the hospital disappear from view out the window. He leaned against the window and let his tired eyes slide shut.

When he woke up again, the sun had sank, and it was getting dark out. Dean looked over at Sam, and saw that he looked exhausted. Another glance at the clock showed that it had been six hours. Dean also knew the Sam must not have slept very much at the hospital.

"Sam," he said hesitantly, still unnerved that he couldn't hear his own voice.

Sam glanced over at him, reached for the volume knob, and turned it down. Dean forgot what he was going to say for a second as his mind processed the fact that music had been playing, and he hadn't heard any of it. What had Sam been listening to? How loud had he been listening to it to make him need to lower the volume? Sam's waving hand took his attention again, and he looked up at his face.

"We should stop for the night," he said. Even though he couldn't hear anything Sam would say in response, a lifetime of interactions had made him a pro at reading his brother's face. It was clear that Sam didn't want to stop until they got to Bobby's, but that he needed a break as well. Dean would have offered to drive and let Sam sleep in the passenger seat, but being down one sense left him unfocussed, and he didn't trust himself behind the wheel yet.

Sam looked back toward the road and nodded. _Okay_. Dean read from his lips, and he repeated it back. Sam took the next exit, and soon enough, they were pulling into a motel with all seven rooms vacant.

Dean waited silently next to Sam as he watched him pay for their room, and tried not to let his disorientation show at not understanding what was happening right in front of him.

They wordlessly got their things from the car, and entered the motel room. It was then that Dean was lost. He turned to his brother in time to see Sam motioning to the table and two chairs. They almost simultaneously pulled the chairs out, and Sam grabbed the motel pad of paper and pen that was on the table. They hadn't been able to talk freely at the hospital, what with listening ears and watching eyes.

 _This is weird_. Sam wrote, turning the paper so Dean could read it.

"Yeah no shit–" Dean began, but Sam held his hands up in surrender. _Sorry_. He mouthed. Dean just rolled his eyes.

 _I burned the hex bag; it was just a spell. Bobby did some research and said if broken, spells can't have lasting effects. There's something else going on._

"What if we were wrong though, and a supernatural cause had a natural effect?" Dean said, hating the implications that came with the words. Sam just shook his head and shrugged.

 _You heard the doctors, from what they'd seen, it looked like you'd been deaf for years._

Dean rubbed his hand down his face. "I don't know, Sammy, I wish I could just kill the freakin' bitch."

 _We'll figure this out, even if we have to hunt down the witch and make her tell us how to reverse it._

"Yeah," Dean said, hardly even reading all of what Sam had written. "You should call Bobby, tell him we're stopping for the night."

Sam nodded. _I can also go pick up some food._ He wrote.

"I'll go too," Dean said. Sam didn't say anything in response, for which Dean was grateful. He simply just opened his phone and began dialing.

Dean didn't want to admit it to Sam, but even in Sam's presence, the silence was creepy. He couldn't hear anything from footsteps behind him to wind blowing outside. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like to be alone in it.

* * *

Dean didn't sleep that night. He'd been able to sleep at the hospital fine, thanks to the sedatives. The combined feeling of the sun, gentle rocking, and exhaustion had allowed him to sleep in the car.

But this was different.

With the lights off, Dean was down two senses. Not only would he not be able to hear any intruder or supernatural being, but Sam could be calling for him and he wouldn't know. As a result, he spent the night tossing and turning, in anxious waiting for the morning.

He tried not to jump as he exited the bathroom only to become face to face with Sam, who looked as if he hadn't gotten much sleep either. They wordlessly passed each other and Dean began getting dressed while Sam disappeared into the bathroom.

It was more of the same, Sam drove, Dean sat, looked out the window. Surprisingly, he wasn't bored, without the music, or occasional noise, it was so easy to zone out staring at the landscape. He was surprised when he looked at the clock to see that four hours had passed. Sam was pulling into a gas station.

Sam wordlessly exited the car and began filling the tank. He looked exhausted to say the least. Dean wondered how much sleep he had gotten, if it had been any more than himself. He got out of the car after his brother and leaned over the top. Sam looked up from pumping the gas.

"Can I drive?"

Sam paused for a second, his face pinched in thought. Dean rolled his eyes. He shouldn't have even asked. Then he looked back to Sam and saw him nodding. He threw Dean the keys over the car, and Dean made his way to the other side of the car. Sam pointed to the gas station. _Coffee_. He mouthed. Dean nodded.

It was weird at first, not hearing the engine, the blinker, the vinyl seats– He often found himself tensed, gripping the wheel. Once he was on the highway though, he'd calmed down and relaxed. It wasn't an hour before he glanced over and saw Sam asleep, his head resting gently against the window. It only confirmed his suspicion that Sam hadn't gotten much sleep the previous night.

It wasn't until about an hour later that Dean realized there had been music playing this entire time. He glanced at the stereo, curious. He twisted the volume knob, waiting for some kind of noise, no matter how quiet.

There was a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and then Sam's hand was over his, turning down the volume knob. Dean glanced over and caught the tail end of Sam's glare.

"Sorry," he said, returning his gaze to the road. It was then that he heard the music– he knew exactly what song was playing.

"Sam," Dean said. He could't hear a response, but he continued on anyway. "Zepp's Kashmir."

He glanced at the stereo and confirmed his theory. Track 6. If Physical Graffiti was in the tape player, then they were indeed listening to Kashmir. It wasn't until he tried listening for it that he realized he wasn't exactly "hearing" the music, just feeling the beats in the steering wheel. They'd become more prominent when he turned the volume up.

Sam wore a surprised look on his face, and Dean smirked. He watched as Sam ejected the tape and rummaged in the glove compartment for another one. Finding the one he wanted, he inserted it, found a specific track and turned up the volume. It took a second, but then it was obvious.

"Renegade," Dean said, smiling as he focussed again on the road, "Styx." One look at Sam and he knew he'd gotten it. Leave it to Dean to be able to recognize the beats of classic rock.

When they got to Bobby's, Dean killed the ignition, but didn't exit the car. He turned to Sam and ran a hand over his close cropped hair.

"You said he's got a spell?" he asked. Sam nodded.

"How much confidence do we have in it?"

Sam thought for a second, then held out his hand in a half thumbs up gesture. Dean nodded.

"Okay," he said. Then he opened his door and without a second glance toward Sam, marched toward the door and rang the doorbell. Bobby was just opening the door when Sam caught up to Dean. The three hunters stood in the doorway silent, until Bobby annoyedly waved them in.


	4. A Promising Spell

They got straight to work. Bobby said he'd found a spell, but the spell itself still needed translating, and the materials needed to be collected. They set up camp in Bobby's library, each with a beer, and each with a book. Sam tried to write everything he was saying so Dean could understand, but more often than not, things inevitably got lost in translation.

Dean found himself having to read the same sentence multiple times in order to understand, as the absence of white noise caused him to get lost in his thoughts. He watched as Bobby suddenly got up and began rummaging in the drawers of the desk, saw Sam look up and ask something. He didn't bother asking what was going on, it was simply too much of a hassle.

Sam waving his attention brought him back to the present. He directed Dean to something he'd written.

' _Translation_

 _The bracken from the tree falls fast,_

 _I reverse its affects_

 _Tarry not the consequences'_

"Consequences?" Dean said after reading the spell. Sam shrugged, then began writing again.

 _'_ _The spell hasn't ever been successfully tested. Bobby thinks that's the consequence, that it could be permanent if it doesn't work.'_

Dean took a breath and rubbed his temple with his fingers. The odds weren't very promising. But they had to do something...

"Could we summon the witch?" he asked, looking up at Sam. Sam grimaced and shook his head.

' _Can't summon witches, they're just humans_.'

Of course, Dean already knew that, but he at least needed confirmation that it wasn't possible.

"What about Cas?" he said. Sam leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. Dean saw him looking up and mouthing something, then he looked around the room. Dean looked around as well, suddenly remembering that Bobby was behind them. Bobby had paused his search and was glancing around the room, but the angel did not appear.

"Cas, I don't know what Sam just said, but get your feathery ass down here now," he said.

"Forgive me, but I hear many prayers, it sometimes takes me a second to place it."

Dean almost fell out of his chair. Three days of silence was suddenly interrupted by the angel's monotonous voice. He turned in his chair, wide-eyed to see Castiel standing behind him, looking just as expressionless as his voice.

"Cas?!"

"You look surprised, Dean, did you not pray for me?"

Dean could only stare, until Bobby's wordless mouthing brought him back to the present. He turned to Sam.

"I can hear him!" he said. Sam's mouth dropped and he stared at Dean as if he had two heads. ' _What?'_ He mouthed.

"I don't understand, Dean, why would you not be able to hear me?" Cas asked. Bobby went back to sit in his chair.

"There was a spell– a curse," Dean said, "some witch took my hearing. But I can hear you."

Cas tilted his head in confusion, then came forward and placed two fingers to Dean's head. He felt a whoosh of energy, but when Cas retreated, he still heard nothing. He looked up expectantly at Cas.

"Your hearing has been compromised," he stated simply, and Dean had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "This is not something I can fix," he said. Cas's gaze traveled above Dean's head, and Dean turned to see Sam asking a question.

"Whoever cast this curse has a bind on Dean. Because I can't grasp the origin, I have no way of eradicating the symptoms. I assume you can hear me because as an angel, I am able to project my thoughts and ideas as well as voice them."

"You're in my mind?"

"I am not physically in your mind, but yes, I can project my voice into your thoughts."

Cas suddenly looked up towards Sam, and Dean saw him saying something he couldn't read. Cas then went over and looked at the spell Sam had just shown Dean.

"I have not heard of this spell," he said, "what are the consequences?"

Dean watched as Cas had the same conversation with Bobby and Sam, and tried to follow what they were saying, but only made himself more confused.

"Alright, let's just– let's just get this done," Dean finally said. He was met with three blank stares. It was Sam who finally picked up the pencil and began writing.

' _Are you sure?'_

"Yes," Dean looked up at his brother. "If Cas is saying he can't fix me, and we can't track down the witch, then this is our last option, and I would rather we just get it over with than just sit here thinking about it."

He was getting tired of watching conversations, he missed the sounds from the refrigerator and the creaking floors. He was tired of not being able to hear. Screw the consequences, if there was a chance this would work, he was taking it.

He looked up to see Sam nodding, and writing something else down.

' _All we need now is some of your hair.'_

Dean reached up a pulled some from his head, handing them to Bobby. He watched as Bobby placed all the ingredients in a bowl and set it on the table. It was like watching a movie on mute. Conversation between Sam and Bobby was lost on Dean, but he somehow was still able to sense Cas's presence behind him. Sam quickly glanced at Dean before he began reading from a book he was holding, and Bobby threw in a lit match.

No sooner did the entire bowl go up in flames then Dean collapsed onto the floor as a searing pain shot through his head and an extremely high pitched noise bombarded his thoughts. No matter how hard he covered his ears with his arms, the earsplitting sound wouldn't let up.

" _Dean Winchester, you've tried and failed. Accept the consequences. You've tried and failed. Accept the consequences. Accept the consequences. Accept the consequences…_ "

The ghostly voice flitted painfully through Dean's ears like static, and he pressed harder against his ears until finally it had stopped.

"Dean,"

Dean felt two fingers on his forehead slip away, and he opened his eyes. Cas was staring worriedly at him. Dean reached up and felt his ears. They didn't hurt anymore, but he heard nothing.

"How do you feel?" Cas said. Sam stood behind Cas, and Bobby behind him, all staring at Dean as if he might combust at any minute. The bowl was upturned on the ground, burnt leaves strewn about on the floor. Dean took a second to wonder how it had gotten there before he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and his eyes flashed to Sam. He was saying something. He was saying something that Dean couldn't hear, and Dean knew that he wouldn't ever hear it again. Without another word, he stood up trying not to use the table for support, and left the house.

The spell hadn't worked. He didn't need Sam telling him that, he could figure it out for himself from the deafening silence. This had been they're only chance. _His_ only chance, and now he was deaf. _Freaking deaf._ Was he supposed to just take that sitting down?

Sam had said it would work, he'd done the research. They'd _both_ done the research, and not only had it not worked, but they were back at square one with nothing else to go off of. It had only been a couple of days, but he was tired of only getting the ends of conversations, having to read off of napkin corners, not being able to regulate the volume of his own freaking voice.

He needed to leave, to drive. It didn't matter where or how long, but he needed to be alone in the Impala with the windows down going ten miles over the speed limit. What he didn't need was Sam's hand on his shoulder, pulling him back, trying to get him to turn around.

Without stopping, without even thinking, Dean turned around, put all of his pent up rage behind his fist, and thrust it at Sam's face. He watched Sam stumble to the side and bring a hand up to his eye.

It hadn't felt good. It felt wrong, and it only made him more mad. He started to turn back toward the car when he saw Sam waving at him, and saying something. Mouthing something. But not being able to understand only continued to fuel the animalistic rage bubbling inside of him, and he punched Sam again.

Sam immediately brought his hand up to his face, holding his jaw. He glared at Dean, but didn't say anything. Dean glared back, until Sam's fist was connecting with his face, and he was seeing stars.

It was as if all sense of balance had left him. One minute he was standing, and the next, he was tipping over, his arm colliding painfully with the ground. He pushed himself up, dazed, and shook his head to clear the dizziness. A blow like that wouldn't normally have brought him to the ground. Then again, a blow like that probably wouldn't normally have come at such a surprise either.

Sam looked horrified down at him, and immediately reached out a hand to help him up. But Dean scrambled back until he was against the car, and used it to pull himself up.

"Can you just give me a freaking minute, Sam?" Dean exclaimed.

Sam flinched, cupping his face protectively with his hand. His nose had already started to bleed, and he eye was definitely going to bruise by the morning.

Breathing heavily, Dean turned back around and pulled the keys from his jacket. He watched Sam watching him leave, and he gunned the engine once he was on the road, feeling the accelerator's vibration, and knowing he'd left a noise.


	5. Perspectives

Bobby almost spit out his beer when he saw the state Sam was in as the younger hunter walked back inside the house. The brothers had been outside for not five minutes, and already Sam looked as if he'd been in a bar fight.

"What the hell happened?"

Sam waved Bobby off and headed for the stairs, but Bobby wasn't going to let him get away that easily.

"Put some ice on that face before your eye swells shut, boy."

Sam paused at the base of the stairs, and Bobby took another swig of beer in satisfaction. If there was one thing he knew, it was his boys. He knew how to get them to open up, even if John never did.

Sam rummaged around in the freezer until he pulled out a few cubes and wrapped them in a paper towel. He leaned against the counter, and winced as he touched the compress to his bruised eye.

"Where's Cas," Sam asked. Bobby knew he was dodging the inevitable, but he was thankful Sam was talking at all.

"Hell if I know," he said, "poofed out right about the time when the two a you did."

He wasn't asking for an explanation, or a play-by-play. He didn't even need to see the look of guilt that flashed on Sam's face at the silent accusation. All Bobby wanted was for Sam to cool off, shake out his head before he went upstairs, got all bottled up, and blew a fuse.

"Got any ideas?" Sam asked, adjusting the ice.

"'Bout finding this witch, or getting your brother's hearing back?"

"Both... either..." Sam sighed, "It's never this complicated, Bobby."

Bobby sighed. There was no one out there that knew supernatural crap like he did. And he knew what if felt like when answers seemed to lead somewhere but then almost always fell through. It was a part of the job. Something he'd learned to accept years ago.

"You may be right, but he's been through worse shit, and he's gotten through that."

Bobby was almost certain that "perspective" wasn't the answer Sam was looking for, but at least it was an answer. The witch had fled, and they therefore couldn't kill her to reverse the spell's affects. The counter curse they had found had ended up not only failing, but causing unnecessary trauma to Dean. He had literally been shuddering on the floor in pain until Cas had put a stop to it. Even Cas had no answers for Dean. Bobby knew that that was really what scared Sam. If an angel couldn't reverse the spell's affects, how could they possibly find a spell– the right spell that would do it?

It was quiet then. Bobby took a sip of his beer, and Sam tore off another paper towel to replace the current one that had begun dripping. It was clear that Dean wasn't going to be back any time soon. Bobby watched as Sam pushed off the counter and headed for the stairs muttering a defeated goodnight.

* * *

Dean drove. He drove without a care where he was going or for how long. All four windows were down, and he squinted as the wind blowing in his face made his eyes water. He couldn't get himself to turn off the radio, and while he could feel the beats pumping through the steering wheel, he couldn't concentrate enough to figure out what was playing.

When it began to dip dark, he pulled over to the side of the road, wondering when he'd begun shaking. It unnerved him that even gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white didn't stop the car from jerking wildly to the side every few yards.

"Damnit," he muttered to himself. He lowered his head to rest on the steering wheel and sat there for a second, but the close confines and stuffiness of the car made him twitch. He needed to feel something – the wind on his face, warmth from the dying sun – anything but the silence.

The road he was on wasn't busy. There were no cars, and there hadn't been for a while. No houses or buildings dotted the picturesque landscape off the side of the roads. There were no people. No one would hear him.

Getting out of the car, he slammed the door shut with as much force as he could muster, pulling strength from his anger. His hands still shook when he held them up, and he clenched them into fists. Spikes of pain lanced his palms as his nails broke skin and he sighed in relief.

"Damnit," he said again. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands creeping up toward his head and roughly brushing through his hair. "Damnit!" he yelled this time. "Son of a BITCH!"

The gravel on the road bit through his jeans into his knees as Dean sunk to the ground and looked out into the growing darkness. It was so loud – the silence. It pressed upon his ears and his brain until he couldn't see, couldn't think. The loss of sound that, he might be able to deal with. He could still see, he could communicate, he could probably even hunt. The silence though, he didn't know if he could stand it. It had only been a few days, but he already noticed it. The intensity, the nothingness. The sound had always been a distraction from the pain, from whatever he was seeing, from his own thoughts. He'd never thought silence could be so loud.

"Damnit."

He stayed there for a while, until the sun had completely set and he was in the dark. Then he pushed himself off the ground and wiped a hand down his face. He was surprised to feel tears drying on his cheeks, and dried blood from where his skin had split when Sam had punched him. He calmly got back in the car and started the drive back.

Dean was exhausted when he finally pulled up at Bobby's house at 2 am. Entering the house as quietly as he could, he forwent the guest bedroom he and Sam were sharing, and opted instead for the couch in the living room.

* * *

Sam rolled onto his back as he heard footsteps on the stairs. He hadn't been able to sleep since he heard the Impala out in front, even though he had heard Dean downstairs choosing the couch over the bed to Sam's right.

He ran a hand through his hair and made his way downstairs, glancing Dean passed out on the couch and shamefully looking away from the split skin near Dean's eye. He still couldn't believe he'd punched him. He'd just been so angry. Angry at Dean for giving up so easily, angry at the spell for not working, but mostly just angry that his bother was deaf in the first place.

Bobby was putting a pot of coffee on when Sam entered the kitchen and sat down at the table. He gave Sam a look, most likely at the state Sam's black eye had become, but didn't say anything. Sam had yet to look at his own face, and while it ached, it didn't feel swollen.

He met Bobby's eyes in thanks as Bobby poured out two cups of coffee, and they drank in silence. It wasn't until Sam was almost finished that he tensed as he heard the couch creak, and footsteps entering the kitchen. He could feel Bobby's eyes staring into him, but he didn't meet them, and only turned when Dean appeared in the kitchen doorway.

No one said anything, but Sam couldn't miss the glance Dean shot him. He knew that look. It was a cross between worry, and a whole lot of guilt. Dean used it whenever Sam was hurt, or may be hurt, or was about to be hurt.

Sam reverted his eyes back to the table as Dean turned to pour his own cup of coffee. He leaned against the counter, the same place, coincidentally, that Sam had been leaning last night, and sighed.

"I heard stuff," he said finally. Sam's eyes narrowed in skepticism, and he saw Bobby looking from Dean to Sam. Dean just shook his head slightly and looked down. "During the spell, I heard stuff," he amended.

"I gotta believe we can find this witch–" Dean said. His voice cracked by the end, and Sam, knowing his brother, saw that Dean could tell, as he self consciously brushed his hand over his face. He opened his mouth to say something, that they wouldn't stop until they found the spell, or the witch, but Dean held out a hand to stop him.

"I gotta believe I won't be like this forever," Dean said, "but in the meantime–" he cleared his throat. "I don't want to get an abbreviated explanation. I don't want to rely on you guys to write stuff down for me. We've gotta find a better way."

Dean waited, looking from Sam to Bobby. Sam knew what this was, what this meant. It was Dean opening up, giving a peace offering, choosing a solution. He also knew that he was going to do everything he could because his brother had been cursed, and he could't forgive himself for that.

"Okay," he said, nodding. Dean seemed to deflate against the counter as he took a sip of coffee.

"Also, uh–" Dean started, "sorry about... "he gestured to his face and the split skin near his eye. Sam let out a laugh and waved him off.

"You good?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam said, laughing again.

"Idjits." Sam just heard Bobby mutter under his breath, and he rolled his eyes.


	6. A Milk Run

AN Hey guys! Thanks for reading my story! As it says in the summary, I'm planning on making this into a series with this being the first work. You won't have to read the other works in order, but it would be nice to have this fic as background. Anyway, hope you enjoy this last chapter, and reviews always appreciated :)

* * *

Something was wrong.

He didn't know how he knew, but something told Dean to stop what he was doing and check on Sam, even though he knew that Sam was just inside doing research. He closed the hood of the Impala, wiped his hands on the shop rag he'd been using, and made his way into the house.

"Sam?" he called, first checking the kitchen, the looking around the rest of the house. When his eyes landed on the floor in the living room, he froze, and his heart jumped into his throat.

Sam was on the ground, leaning up against the couch. There was blood lining his lips and dripping down his chin. It only made his stark white face that much more contrasting. The look on his face when he turned and saw Dean was exhausted and despairing.

"Sam!" Dean said, immediately dropping down next to his brother. Sam grasped Dean's shoulder, his other arm wrapped protectively around his middle. He grimaced as he turned his head and coughed into his arm.

"I've been calling–" Sam said, but it was like he was speaking gibberish. Dean could barely understand what he was saying. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, and Dean's hand hovered over Sam, unsure where he was hurt.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Dean asked, panicked. Sam only gripped his shoulder more forcefully and said something else. Dean's heart sped as he couldn't make sense of the words. Sam could very well have been speaking a different language.

"I can't understand you, I–" Dean was paralyzed, his voice caught in his throat. He didn't know what to do, and Sam was now shaking his shoulder. His mouth was moving, but he wasn't saying anything, and Dean couldn't breath–

Dean jolted awake, gasping breaths and slowing his heart rate as he realized where he was. He wasn't in the living room, but in his bed in the room at Bobby's that he and Sam were sharing. Sam was standing next to the bed, no blood on his face, and his hand outstretched towards Dean's shoulder. It didn't take Dean long to realize what had happened. He'd been dreaming, it had only been a nightmare, Sam was fine.

'You okay?' Sam signed. Dean took a shaky breath, but nodded.

"Yeah," he said, and cleared his throat. Sam raised his eyebrows, but dropped his hand from Dean's shoulder. Dean could tell that he'd woken Sam, as his hair was slightly disheveled and he had tiredly dragged a hand down his face. One glance at the clock showed that it was just after seven. Slightly earlier than Sam's usual wake up time, but Dean knew he wouldn't try going back to sleep after that.

'I'll get the coffee started,' Sam signed.

It had been two months. Two months signing, two months researching, and two months of silence. Dean was surprised at how quickly he'd picked up the language. Sam he knew would have no trouble with it, but it seemed that having to rely on it had made Dean retain it that much more.

Now that he didn't have something to focus on though, he was starting to go stir crazy with cabin fever. He was itching for a hunt, something to get his heart pumping, get the adrenaline flowing. It was no secret though that he was scared of the hunt, worried he wouldn't be able to trust himself enough to ever hunt the same. Deep down though, he knew it wouldn't ever be the same.

There was nothing they could do about it though, and if there was one thing Dean knew, it was that he needed to hunt. It was his life, what he was good at, what he knew. He just wasn't sure he was ready yet.

He and Sam had lately been working on creating and learning "hunt specific" signs. Things like meat suit, ectoplasm, and exorcise, weren't in the ASL common phrasebook Sam had bought. But they were getting good, learning how to communicate without speaking, without signing even. Dean could already see Bobby's unease at how easily him and Sam could carry on a conversation with just their eyes.

Sam was at the table eating a bowl of cereal when Dean got downstairs. Bobby was no where to be seen. Dean got his own bowl, as well as a cup of coffee.

'Where's Bobby?' Dean signed, using Bobby's name sign: the sign for "uncle", but with a "B". Dean had created name signs for the three of them, including his own. Sam's was made by forming an "S" and touching his hair. Dean's was the sign for a car with a "D".

'Working in the yard,' Sam signed back. 'So listen, Jody got a call that seemed like our kind of thing. Guy dies in a room locked from the inside. EMF going crazy.'

Dean raised his eyebrow, slightly interested.

"And," he said. Sam rolled his eyes.

'I don't know, seems like a good case to get us back on our feet. Sitting around all day is killing you–'

"Why don't you and Bobby take it?" Dean said, taking another bite of cereal. He could practically feel Sam's look of impatience, and he confirmed his thoughts as he looked up.

'Come on, Dean, it's a milk run. We need this win. _I_ need this win.'

Leave it to Sam to pull out the puppy dog eyes. Dean looked up as he saw Sam waving for his attention.

'You're ready for this.'

Dean sighed. As much as he _wanted_ to be ready to hunt again, it had only been two months. Yeah they'd gone over basic tactics, made plans, researched for days, but Dean still couldn't hear anything. He wasn't sure that was something you could get back to normal in two months.

They had to start somewhere though, and if this actually was a milk run as Sam had said it was, then they could do it with their eyes closed. Dean's deaf ears would hardly phase them.

"Alright, well if we're going to do this, we need a plan," Dean said.

'Of course,' Sam signed, and Dean rolled his eyes at the grin spreading across Sam's face. But he didn't try to hide the one creeping up on his either.

* * *

"Patrick Dendrin," Dean said, reading the case report Jody had sent them. Sam was driving, a concept Dean had at first rejected, but eventually came around too. It was all around easier to communicate for both of them. Dean didn't have to divide his focus on the road and Sam's hands, while Dean could read off the research for Sam to listen.

"Age 56, long time store manager of a Sears in Salem South Dakota, found with multiple stab wounds in the store's locked office after the store had closed. Only other person with a key has an alibi."

'So we thinking some kind of spirit?' Sam signed.

"Yeah, but get this: There was another weird death at the same store a few years ago." Dean said. "Some guy named Gerald Link was killed in a freak accident when a box of dishes fell on his head."

'A retired employee, or maybe a fired employee seeking vengeance on the two?' Sam signed, he pulled into the Sears parking lot, already full of police cars and news trucks.

"I don't know, the two deaths seem too different, they might not even be related."

They got out of the car and pushed through the crowd at the door only to be stopped by a policeman and yellow caution tape.

'Agents Parker and Mann,' Sam spoke as he signed. Dean held up his FBI badge with Sam, and the security guard let them though the caution tape. Dean looked up as a police officer approached them once they'd entered the back room. She didn't say anything, but crossed her arms as she regarded them.

'My name is Agent Parker, this is my partner, Agent Mann,' Sam said, gesturing to Dean, 'we have a few questions regarding what happened last night. Is there an employee I could speak with while Agent Mann takes a look around?'

The officer nodded and said something that Dean couldn't fully follow. He'd gotten decent at reading lips, teaching himself using the TV, but he never got anything in full. He caught _store manager_ , and then looked back as she pointed behind them where an open door was blocked off by more caution tape. He assumed that was the office where it had happened.

Dean nodded a thanks, and made his way over to the office where there was another officer who's name-tag read _Conrado_. Dean could see where Dendrin had landed by a tape outline, and more tape on the floor showed where they'd found the murder weapon.

While he couldn't hear it, Dean could tell the EMF reader was picking up signs of a spirit, evident by the lights. The lock on the door didn't seem to have been tampered with, but he noticed there was a keypad on the door as well as a keyhole.

Before he could look any further, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he inwardly cringed as he jumped in surprise. He turned around to see Officer Conrado already saying something. Because Dean had been caught unaware though, he could only stare uselessly at the man's moving lips, and he couldn't understand any of it.

Dean felt his face reddening as he just stood with his mouth agape, not knowing what to say, or what kind of response he was supposed to give. Conrado seemed to notice this, and began talking again, but this time slower, and he mimed taking a picture with his hands.

"You have photos? Of the scene?" Dean said, finally understanding. The police officer nodded and bent down to get a manilla folder from his bag. Dean flipped through the photos, stopping on one of a bloody boxcutter.

"A boxcutter?" he asked in surprise. Conrado nodded and held up a finger for Dean to wait. He took out a small notepad from his pocket, and a pen. Dean tried not to feel the shame from the extraordinary measures they had to take because of him.

 _No fingerprints rules out suicide._ Dean read in the police officer's scrawl.

"And the door was locked?" Dean asked. Conrado nodded. He said something as he gestured to the keypad on the door, as well as the keyhole. Dean could guess that he was saying the door had been double locked.

With the amount of security this place had, and the fact that there was no evidence to suggest there had been a break in or another person in the room, Dean didn't doubt that this was their kind of thing, especially with the EMF reaction he'd gotten.

He said thanks to Officer Conrado, and made his way back to Sam who was talking with the other store manager. He had on the face he wore when he was talking to grieving families: a tilted head, a look of attentiveness, the occasional nod. When Sam noticed Dean approach him, he seemed to wrap it up and say thanks before turning back to Dean.

'Ready?' Sam asked, stowing his notepad.

"Let's go," Dean said, and they left the store.

* * *

'Did you get anything from Sears guy?' Dean asked. They were sitting in the booth of a diner that Officer Conrado had suggested, Crooked Mo's. He'd already told Sam everything he'd gathered from the scene: the EMF, the double lock, and the boxcutter. Sam had agreed that they definitely had a case.

'Yeah, actually,' Sam signed back, 'apparently, Dendrin wasn't well loved by his employees, and there was an obvious rift between him and Gerald Link.'

'Dishes to the head guy?'

'Yeah, you thinking what I'm thinking?' Sam asked.

'That Jerry was feeling a little vengeful toward Dendrin when he died?'

'It would explain death by boxcutter.' Sam signed back.

The waitress arrived then with their food, and Dean hungrily dug into his bacon cheeseburger and fries. He looked up as he saw Sam waving for his attention.

'So we digging up Jerry tonight then?'

Dean smirked. It was nice not having to limit their words in public when they were signing.

"Yeah," he said in between bites. He looked up to see Sam rolling his eyes as he dug into his salad.

"Can't believe that guy was _actually_ killed by a box of dishes," Dean said, "what a way to go."

* * *

Dean leaned against the wall of the hole in the grave they'd been digging. They'd been digging most of the night, and were only just reaching the coffin. The two months time off had made them lazy.

"Alright, let's get this thing burned," he said setting his shovel down. Sam jammed the tip of his shovel into the side of the coffin, and pushed down, using the lid as leverage to open it. As soon as the shovel splintered wood, Dean saw something flicker above Sam's head. He had just enough time to grab his shotgun and fire before the vengeful spirit took off Sam's head.

Sam jumped in surprise, most likely at the sound of the shotgun. He looked over his shoulder, and then at Dean and mouthed _thanks._ Dean only nodded, and they shared a look that clearly said "we better finish this up quick".

Sam quickly opened the coffin the rest of the way, and they crawled out the grave. Dean watched Sam sprinkle the bones with salt and lighter fluid. Dean had only just lit his lighter and dropped it in when he was suddenly forced to the ground by an unseen force. A glance to his right showed that Sam had been brought to the ground as well. But just as soon as he hit the ground, Dean felt the force lessen as the bones caught aflame, and Jerry's ghost was seen burning over the grave.

Dean sat up, trying to catch his breath. He took Sam's offered hand, and they stood over the burning grave. A glance at his watch showed that it was nearing four.

"Dude," Dean said, "when has it ever actually been a milk run?" He glanced up and saw Sam laughing.

Once they'd burned the corpse, filled the grave, and finally packed their sweaty and aching bodies into the car, the sun was beginning to rise. Dean offered to drive the forty minutes back to Bobby's. He could see that Sam was drained, and while he himself felt like he could collapse too, he wanted to process what had just happened.

When they got back to Bobby's, the sun had really begun to rise. Dean shut off the engine, and Sam stirred in the passenger seat beside him, most likely at the lack of noise.

"You were right," Dean said. Sam blearily opened his eyes and looked at Dean in confusion. "I did need this win. But just because this was an easy case, doesn't mean I'm not still a liability–"

'You're not a–'

Dean paused Sam's signing with a hand. "Doesn't matter. Cases won't always be that easy. So," Dean paused to take a breath, "either we get good fast, or dead faster."

Sam rolled his eyes, but smiled. He opened the car door and stepped out into the morning sun. Dean followed suit, and smiled as he thought of future hunts that they would kick in the ass, but more importantly, the hot shower waiting for him inside.

* * *

The End (for now)


End file.
